When I fight for women’s rights, he says he loves me.
He calls me passionate when I preach activism.
He tells me how proud he is when I correct sexism.
He praises me in adoration, that I can do whatever a man can do.
Yet he doesn’t fight for women.
He doesn’t preach activism.
He doesn’t correct sexism.
It seems like, after all, that he doesn’t think I can do whatever a man can do.
He fucks a feminist. He shows his love to a feminist. He praises a feminist, but he isn’t a feminist.
He is a strong man and a good man. He doesn’t kill women after all.
He is a modern man.
He is the modern feminist.